Keys to the Kingdom
by VR Trakowski
Summary: Cliché number three. GS
1. Default Chapter

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. All others are mine, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "Formalities". Many thanks to Cincoflex! This is for Mery, who knows why. **

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There were times when he just wanted to kick something.

They were rare, true; mostly they came in the middle of frustrating, absorbing cases that refused to break. Usually he repressed the urge, though sometimes it leaked out when he would snap at someone--or, once in a while, do something completely unprofessional, like toss coffepots around.

He hadn't done that in ages. In fact, he hadn't been so frustrated since the last terrifying case he'd had, the one that had burned his brain to the bone. The trouble was, this time it wasn't a case.

It was as though all the impossibilities of the last few years were coming home to roost on the doorstep of his mind. There was something he wanted, that he'd wanted for a long time; for ages he hadn't known how to even begin to go about getting it. And now that he thought he knew how, now that he was finally able to risk this, he wasn't sure it was possible any longer.

The Sara he'd called to Las Vegas--cheerful, eager, shining--was long gone. The Sara she'd become--withdrawn, troubled, tense--was gone too. Even the glimpse he'd seen of her that heartbreaking morning, vulnerable and lost, had vanished. In their place was a cool, level-voiced mystery who treated him as a casual acquaintance, who seemed to bear little relation to the woman who'd wept silently in his office, who'd brushed chalk from his face, who'd looked him in the eye and asked him out.

He wanted her back. He wanted his friend back, he wanted the flirting back--heck, he even, guiltily, wished for another chance when her defenses were down. Something. Anything that might give him an opportunity.

_You should just ask her point-blank._ Grissom shrugged into his jacket and shut off his office lights with a quick, irritated jerk. _And, of course, she'll laugh in your face. Not that you don't deserve it. _

The door clicked shut behind him as he walked away from it. Across the way, through the glass walls of the DNA lab, he could see her coming from the locker room, half a lap behind him. He put his head down and kept going, unwilling to chance meeting her eyes across that space. _Coward._

Dawn was edging up the sky when he exited the building, but the parking lot was still a mix of shadows and sodium glare. His car was parked at the edge of the lot, and as he neared it he knew without looking that Sara had come out too. They were both late getting off, as usual; day shift had arrived for the most part, grumbling about the dark of winter, and the lot was full of vehicles but empty of people.

Grissom got into his car, but held back from starting the engine just yet. Instead, he tilted his rearview mirror, just enough to watch Sara cross the lot. He always loved the way she stalked along, as though daring life to get in her way.

Tires screeched, and something black and red blocked his view of her. Grissom turned in his seat to look, and realized that a van had pulled in between Sara and his car. He heard a shriek, a door slamming, and--the van raced away.

Leaving the lot empty again.

It took him two seconds to figure it out. Grissom grabbed for his phone, but in his frantic haste he fumbled it, and heard it clatter down under his seat. If he'd had time, he would have sworn at it; there was only one way to reach it now, and that meant getting out of the car and reaching back in. He could do that, and call for help. Or he could go after her.

The engine roared to life.

**xxx**

Having captured its quarry, the van didn't seem to be making any special effort to get away. It slipped into the morning traffic like any other commuter, moving fast but not so fast as to be noticeable.

The steering wheel grew slippery in Grissom's grip as he struggled to keep up. It seemed like all the cars he encountered were conspiring against him; each time he got close, someone would cut him off, or the van would change lanes, and he would fall behind again. _But at least I haven't lost it. _

Except, then, he did. It whipped into a left-turn lane and slid through on the yellow, and Grissom would have run the light if he could have, but he was blocked in by more law-abiding drivers. This time he did swear as the van disappeared down the cross-street.

He reached down for his phone as he waited, hoping faintly that he would be able to snag it, but he knew his own car, and was fairly certain that it was sitting squarely beneath his rear, unreachable from a sitting position. There was nothing he could do--he was familiar with the light, and it wasn't going to be long enough for him to get out and grab the phone and get back in. So he waited, feeling sweat forming on his temples, feeling his pulse climbing--fear and fury, a potent combination. _Hang on, Sara. I'll find you. _

_I will. _

Finally, _finally,_ the light changed. Grissom tailgated the car ahead of him through the turn, wishing for the thousandth time this morning that he was driving the county's SUV with the dashboard police light he never used, and then peeled around the car and sped down the street. It was fairly wide, lined with motels and stores, and he slowed as soon as he got past the point where he'd last glimpsed the van, scanning the lots on either side. His panic was yammering at him, telling him how ridiculous this was--the van could be anywhere by now. _Not anywhere, _he replied silently, trying to master his fear. _It can't have gotten far. If I don't see it by the end of the next block, I'll stop and call 911. _

He was almost ready to do that when he saw it, parked back away from the road in the middle of a clutter of shops and restaurants--but on the other side. He inhaled, hope fierce in the face of the doubt that whispered that maybe it was just a similar vehicle, and pulled in towards the median so he could cut across traffic. He had to wait for a break in the stream of cars, and as he did, he saw the van's side door slide open. Two figures--one short, one tall and husky--stepped out, pulling a third figure with them. Sara's slender silhouette was unmistakable, and Grissom recognized the slash of white across her head at once. A blindfold.

He clenched his jaw as the two others gripped her wrists and towed her towards one of the buildings. Gone was her grace, as she took hesitant steps through her personal darkness.

_The hell with this. _Grissom glanced up the road, decided that there was just enough space, and floored it. He left a trail of screeches and honks in his wake, but no crunching noises, and skidded into the lot without looking behind him.

He stopped near the van. The three had vanished into the building, which was a restaurant but appeared to be closed. Tearing off his seatbelt, Grissom threw open his door, not stopping to fumble for his phone. _No time--they could be doing anything to her in there. _

He blessed Brass silently for scolding him into carrying his gun more often. He'd left it on this morning because he'd meant to make a stop on the way home, and he never left it in the car unattended. Now he pulled it from the holster as he jogged towards the restaurant, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The back door was propped open a little, and he widened it and slipped inside, into a dim hallway that smelled of cooking. There were voices ahead, distorted by echoes; he crept up to the corner and peered around it.

Sara was there, still blindfolded, still between the two figures who gripped her wrists. "C'mon, guys, what is this?" Sara was asking, her voice casual, but he could hear a tremor in it. Something was wrong there, but he couldn't stop to think what. He readjusted his hold on his gun and took a breath, preparing to step around the corner.

And then the corridor filled with light, and voices.

**See Chapter 2**


	2. 2

**Disclaimers, etc: see Chapter 1**

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It was a swirl of color and sound, and Sara had to laugh as she was swept into it. Familiar faces, old friends, grinned at her from all corners of the room, and there was a cake there, and balloons on the ceiling. "Johnny, Mad Dog, you are so _crazy!"_ She swept her captors into a hug, and the three of them laughed before she broke away to embrace the van's driver. "Kimmy! I knew it was you."

"Sure, after these two dweebs gave it away," Kim said wryly, hugging Sara back and then gesturing at the two men. The taller one snorted.

"She was going for her gun, Kimmy, we had to tell her who we were or she would have blown us away."

"Damn straight," Sara shot back, serious. "That was a stupid stunt, guys, what if one of my coworkers had seen you?"

"Nobody out there but you, sugar," Kim returned, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Sara looked around the big room, a bit incredulous at seeing all her old buddies from the SFPD.

"What brought this on?" she asked the room at large, and an older man stepped forward to collect a hug.

"Cheng looked at her calendar a couple of months back and realized it was your birthday," he said, gesturing at a woman sitting at one of the further tables. "Somebody mentioned a surprise party, and you know how it is once this lot gets an idea in their heads--it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and it took this long for everybody to get leave."

"Ari said you were having a rough summer," Kim put in, snagging a glass from a nearer table. "And we thought Vegas sounded like a good place to spend a weekend."

"And thus the first annual SFPD Gambling Retreat and Scare the Hell Out of Sidle weekend was born," the shorter kidnapper supplied.

Sara rolled her eyes, but it felt like all her melancholy had been chased away by the surprise and the joy of seeing them. "Like you all needed an excuse. Well, you came to party, let's do it!"

There was a general cheer, and someone turned on some music. Sara turned to Kim. "Any idea where the restrooms are in this place?"

The other woman smiled. "We rented the whole thing out. Down the hall on the right."

Sara nodded, and slipped out of the room, pausing to greet a couple more people. The surprise was delightful, but she needed a moment to herself; adrenaline was still pulsing through her. It was weird to see them all again, if pleasant; her communication with most of her old friends had waned over the past year or so, and it was a bit of a shock to see them all together again.

She got five yards down the corridor before realizing that there was someone at the end of it. Nerves still on edge, she reached for her Maglight and shone it down the hall. The figure immediately winced away, one hand rising to cover his face, but she knew him--she'd know him anywhere. _"Grissom?"_

He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said, and his voice was rough. He straightened, moving towards the exit, and almost automatically she stepped forward to block him.

"What are you doing here? You're not part of this, are you?" She clicked off the light and put it back in her pocket, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. Grissom hadn't been in the room when they'd taken off her blindfold, she was sure of it, and besides, he had never had anything to do with the SFPD beyond a few seminars.

"No." His face was blank, and his voice was still strained, and finally Sara glanced down and realized with sudden alarm that he was holding his service weapon in one white-knuckled fist. Her gaze snapped back up to his face, and now she could see the sweat gleaming along his temples, and the paleness of his skin.

"Grissom, what's wrong?" He looked downright ill, and worry pushed aside Sara's persistent hurt. "What's going on?"

He looked down at the gun in his hand as though he didn't know where it came from, then holstered it slowly, carefully snapping the cover into place. Then his hands came up, equally slowly, and cupped her face as though she were fragile. She could feel them shaking. "Sara," Grissom whispered, leaning forward until his lips brushed her cheek.

The light dawned. "Oh shit, you thought they'd really kidnapped me, didn't you?" Sara asked softly, horrified. He nodded, still holding her delicately, and his beard tickled her skin. Sara shook her own head and pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tightly as his hands slipped down from her face to find her back. The resultant pressure pushed air from her lungs, but she let him do it, trying to give him comfort.

She'd ceased to doubt that he cared for her the night she'd watched him through the interrogation room window. But his inability to act had hurt like crazy, and finally Sara had given up, deciding that the bittersweet pleasures of their interactions were more bitter than sweet, and choosing to retreat into a professional demeanor, no matter what he said or did.

Professionalism, however, had shattered at the look in his eyes. She stroked his spine, trying to soothe, trying to ease the tremors that still made him quiver a little in her arms. "I'm fine, Grissom," she said quietly. "It's just a surprise party."

She felt him swallow. "I know," he muttered. "But I thought..."

"Shh." She hugged him tighter. "It's okay."

He sighed. "No, it's not, Sara."

Grissom let her go, stepping back with obvious reluctance. Sara let her arms drop, shivering a little with the loss of his warmth. "It's not okay," he repeated, and hurt swelled inside her chest.

"Relax," she said, her voice harsher than she meant it to be. "I get it, this is a one-time thing. Don't worry, Grissom."

He closed his eyes briefly, looking exasperated as well as strained. "That's not what I meant."

Frustration was hot and sharp. "Then explain what you do mean, Grissom, so I can get back to my party."

Grissom shook his head, but she could see it was frustration equal to her own rather than negation. "I can't do this any more, Sara. I can't..." He sighed, and reached out to capture her hand in his. "Please let me in."

Sara blinked, incredulous. "What are you saying?" His thumb was stroking her palm gently, an alluring, tender sensation.

His other hand came up, fingers brushing lightly against her lips, her cheek. "You're so beautiful, and so alone," he said quietly. "Let me in. I don't know how to be what you want me to be, but I'll try." Another touch, soft as wings. "I promise."

Her heart was breaking wide open, and she struggled. "Grissom...this is just because of today...it's the adrenaline talking. You'll change your--"

One gentle finger tapped her lips, and he shook his head firmly. "I've been trying to do this for weeks, Sara. Months, even. But you were so closed. I thought I'd blown all my chances."

Her body was becoming more aware of his by the second, and it was _distracting._ "I...think...you have one more left," she said dazedly. His eyes were deepening, and then his hand slipped away and his mouth touched hers with fervent reverence.

It was sweet, so sweet, the perfect ache of completion. Sara took hold of his jacket, half-afraid he would pull away, but his arms were back around her and she was warm again. He laid his kiss on her again and again, and she returned them, marking him invisibly as her own. She was the one shaking now, and when they finally relaxed into each other, one silhouette in the dimness, it felt like her world had turned inside out. In a good way.

Finally she pulled back, looking him over and liking what she saw--the pallor of residual terror replaced by a good healthy flush, and the gleam in his eyes holding something of amusement and astonishment, and everything of acceptance.

She straightened out his jacket, grinning, her fingers lingering over his heart. "Come and meet my friends."

**End.**


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